Waffles Away From Home
by PenNameSmith
Summary: In which the various merits -- or lack thereof -- of train-hopping and waffle-based maps are called into question. With a brief and not entirely irrelevant appearance by a few other characters who may or may not be just the slightest bit recognizable...


Four state lines and three waffles later, it occurred to Mittens, somewhat belatedly, that a fast food placemat was not necessarily the most practical means of navigation when it came to getting from one side of the country to the other.

In all fairness, it had gotten them this far already, but that was credit more due the interstate and the helpfulness of direction-wise pigeons than the waffle map. Mittens glanced at the surrounding landscape, and, momentarily, she entertained the notion that they'd been going the wrong way all along – that they were halfway into Canada by now, or about to march straight back into the RV park where they'd started. She could imagine the scene perfectly: Bolt wandering around the map in little circles, sniffing it, trying to decipher some piece of information he'd neglected before. Rhino waxing poetic about nefarious traps and diversions. They'd have to start again from scratch; the whole trip would take twice as long.

. . . Yes, said a little voice in Mittens' head, which was far too smug and sarcastic for its own good. Twice as long with Bolt. Wouldn't _that_ be terrible? Mittens frowned, and rolled over, as though she could somehow face away from the more annoying places her mind kept going lately. She never would've had this problem a week ago, she could be sure of that.

She wasn't about to let something like that kill her mood, though, because the sun was high in the sky, the wind was just the right temperature, and for the first time in a very long time, Mittens was genuinely, flat-out happy. She'd never admit it, of course, but at the heart of it there was no denying that just days after being forcefully excised from the Big Apple, the weathered cat felt like she'd died and gone to paradise. Paradise, at the moment, being a wide, sun-drenched field of tall grass somewhere in the middle of Colorado. The stalks rose up and around her, so that from where Mittens was lying it seemed as though the whole world consisted entirely of the blue sky above and the gently curving grass on every side.

Of course, such a moment was far too perfect to go uninterrupted for long. A ladybug landed on the tip of a blade of grass just beside Mittens' face, paused there for a moment, and then flitted away in abject terror as the grass around it exploded.

Rhino intruded onto Mittens' moment of reflection with all the tact of an overly social hurricane. Shreds and chunks of what in life had probably been plants and dirt were plastered all over the outside of his plastic hamster ball. The rodent inside wore the expression of an accomplished trailblazer. Mittens, undeterred, stayed precisely where she was, stretched out on the ground. It hadn't taken her long to grow desensitized to Rhino's eclectic behavior; she was as used to the hamster's frantic and unexpected outbursts as anything else she might have taken for granted.

Which was exactly how one treated a good friend, the smug voice in her head said. She ignored it in favor of speaking to Rhino.

"_There_ you are, cat," Rhino said, rolling towards her. "Bolt sent me on a mission to look for you forever ago. I was beginning to suspect you might have tried to escape from us."

Mittens stood up, and stretched. She tilted her head to look behind Rhino; a swath of shredded, flattened tall grass stretched out behind him in the wake of his ball. It curled and twisted across the entire field, zigzagging through the longest and most overcomplicated route imaginable. Mittens could have sworn there were even a few loop-de-loops in there somewhere.

Bolt himself was only about ten feet away. Mittens could see him from where she was standing, sitting at the bottom of a gentle slope in the grass. A smattering of trees huddled together farther away, near the horizon. The dog was oblivious to either of them, hunched in place and wearing a frown of concentration, contemplating something on the ground below the grass.

Mittens watched him for a second or two longer than she might have cared to admit before finally acknowledging the hamster at her feet.

"What's the matter, Rhino?" She carefully sidestepped his clear-cut trail of destruction, preferring to let the intact grass brush past her shoulders. "Not enough brains between the two of you to figure the map out on your own?"

Rhino ignored her tone. "Bolt thinks we're going too slow," he answered. "We need to find another ride so we can – hey, you're going the wrong _way_! You have to – no, not through there!" Rhino's attempts to herd Mittens along his own labyrinthine trail were pointedly ignored by the cat, who strolled blithely on ahead through the grass. Rhino tried to push her back to his way, but gave up quickly.

"No, you'll get lost that way! It's impossible to keep your sense of direction in these jungles. I – oh, never mind. Look, what I was saying is that we need to – oh! Bolt!" Rhino looked surprised as he pushed through the tall grass to where the dog was sitting. "Did you . . . move? I could have _sworn_ you were farther away than that . . . "

Mittens sat down opposite Bolt. He was looking at the map, which had become a worn, faded thing as they toted it from one location to the next. Two waffles to go until they reached California. Mittens eyed the map with a creeping feeling of apprehension that she was doing her best to ignore. Two waffles to go until they reached Bolt's precious person. What, she had to wonder, was going to happen then?

She pushed the thought away as Bolt looked up at her. He grinned. "Hello Mittens." His expression turned curious. "Where did you go? I sent Rhino to go find you, like, forever ago."

Mittens snorted. "Yeah, he said."

Rhino skittered to Bolt's side, and peered at the map himself, as though he could actually make sense of what little information it offered. Mittens eyed him dubiously.

"I was just . . . resting. Maybe next time you should send someone who's a little taller than his own opinion of himself." Then, for no real reason she could justify, Mittens bent an eye to the map as well. "If you're trying to find the interstate again with that thing I think you're out of luck. I mean, really, we're lucky enough that you even managed to get this far with it."

Bolt shrugged. "We can't _walk_ the rest of the way," he said, simply. "It's okay, I think we're close to something else we can hitch a ride with."

Mittens wondered just how he was so sure of himself, but Bolt interrupted her thoughts again before she could consider the issue for very long.

"Mittens?" He looked at her with an almost plaintive expression. "This morning I chased a squirrel for an hour. And then I completely forgot about it until just now. Is _that_ something regular dogs do?"

Mittens had to smile. "Regular enough, Wags. I think you're doing just . . . Bolt? Bolt, what are you doing?" She looked the dog in confusion. He'd turned away from her, tilting his ear towards the ground. He seemed to be deep in concentration, brow furrowed, listening intently. He glanced up at Mittens for a moment, but didn't lift his head from the earth.

"I'm trying to find our next ride," he answered. "We're close, I'm certain of it."

Mittens looked incredulous. "Bolt, how . . . ? Is this another one of your superpowers? I thought we were over that, Bolt. You can't just – "

"Quiet, cat!" Rhino interrupted her. His expression had turned to one of rapt excitement. "This is exactly how Bolt found Dr. Calico's subterranean magma drill when it was tunneling into Luray! He requires absolute silence!"

Mittens stared at the hamster blankly. No, the situation was not improving. She was about to try and browbeat Bolt into telling her exactly what was going on, but then her ears pricked, involuntarily. She tilted her head, and then she realized that she _could _hear something, though she hadn't the faintest clue what it was. A steady, rumbling vibration, wafting through the air and thrumming up through the ground.

Whatever it was, it was good enough for Bolt. He leapt to his feet, alert. "That's it! Follow me!" he called, and promptly bounded away through the open fields.

"What . . . ?" Mittens watched him go, still baffled towards the situation. "Are you just gonna – "

"This way, cat!" Rhino yelled, excitedly. He rocketed off after Bolt, leaving a new trail of flattened ruin in the grass behind him. Mittens hesitated, but gave up and followed after the other two a moment later.

"I can't even finish a sentence," she grumbled to herself, scooping up the map and carrying it with her. "And today started off so well, too." She ran after Bolt and Rhino, galloping to catch up with them. And if she'd been able to spare a thought toward the subject, she would have had to admit, at least, that the noise – whatever it was – was steadily getting louder, if only just.

* * *

In a matter of minutes, they crossed the field, and passed through the clump of trees at its edge. On the other side, the long stretch of tall grass was cut short as it bumped up abruptly against a wide tract of plowed farmland. There was a barn, off in the distance, and a windpump peeking out from behind it, twirling slowly in the breeze. Between the animals and the farmland, however, there was a barbed wire fence, old and seasoned, and between them and the fence there were train tracks.

The tracks were straight, and went on for as long as any of them could see in either direction. Bolt trotted up to them and held an ear expectantly to the rail. Mittens, out of curiosity, did the same. She could hear the metal ringing, faintly, like distant bells.

"We just made it!" Bolt announced. He looked expectantly into the distance, and as if on cue a train came into view over the horizon line, rumbling steadily towards them. He watched it approach, and then turned back to the others. "Come on, we gotta be fast!"

Rhino fell into step behind him without question, but Mittens stayed rooted to the spot. She gaped at the oncoming train in disbelief.

"Are you _serious_?" she spluttered, eyes widening.

"Well, sure." Bolt turned and looked at her as though he didn't have the slightest clue what the problem could be. "It's going the same way as us. We should be able to ride it back to the roads at least, right?"

"That's not what I meant!" Mittens glared angrily at the dog. "I know dogs don't have the best memories, but I was kind of hoping you hadn't forgotten what happened _the last time we tried to jump onto a moving train_?" Her voice rose to a terrified pitch. She gazed at Bolt frantically, desperately hoping that this was just some idiotic, tasteless joke of his. Unfortunately, his expression was unwavering, and if nothing else she could tell when he was being sincere.

"Don't worry about it, Mittens," Bolt said. His tone was reassuring, but Mittens didn't feel any better for it. "This is different, okay? I know my limits, trust me."

Mittens opened her mouth to protest, but before she could say anything Bolt turned and sprinted off to meet the approaching train, with Rhino in tow. Mittens tried to stay put, but somehow or another she was compelled to give chase. No, this was definitely not shaping up to be a good day at all. Where was a good, sturdy bucket to use as a helmet when you needed one? Of course, she thought, she didn't _have_ to follow them. She'd be fine on her own, especially without any other lunatics to put up with. Heck, she'd probably be better off, really.

But somehow that argument just didn't seem to ring even slightly true. A week ago – and this she knew for certain – a week ago she wouldn't have hesitated to leave them behind. Let them indulge in all the insanity they liked while she went off to have a nap and maybe find a crumb or two of food, and good riddance too. The only reason she'd gone with Bolt the first time he tried to hop a train, after all, was because she'd been quite literally bound to him. This time, she had no such restrictions.

Even as she tried to argue this point to herself, though, she could tell, on some level, that the argument was lost before it had begun. There was nothing in the world that was going to keep her from running after that dog, be it hell or high water.

Or, in this case, an oncoming freight train.

But then, that was only natural when it came to someone like Bolt, the smug voice said, though it sounded just a tad bit gentler this time. Mittens ignored it all the same. She did, however, speed up running just a bit. The train met them, roaring past with a deafening, clattering rumble. She could feel the ground shaking. Ahead of her, Bolt swerved and turned to run back the way they'd come, keeping pace alongside the train. Mittens followed, though she wasn't sure how much longer she could run for. She had the map in her mouth, and bit down on it, hard, to keep from screaming in terror. For an animal, running next to the train was like trying to keep pace with an earthquake, or perhaps an iron tidal wave.

Bolt drew up next to a boxcar with an open door, Rhino blazing across the ground ahead of him. A well-angled shove sent the hamster soaring into the air and through the train car door. He bounced away into the far recesses of the boxcar, shrieking in delight all the way. Bolt mustered his strength and followed him, landing heavily on the edge of the doorway. He scrabbled frantically for a moment, but managed to haul himself all the way up, sinking to the floor and panting heavily with relief.

He turned to look back out the door, and cried out suddenly in dismay. "Mittens!"

The cat had fallen behind, despite her best efforts to keep up with the other two. Slowly, the boxcar drew ahead of her, and then past her, as her running slowed. Bolt called out again, but it wasn't any use. She was never going to catch up to them now. Bolt looked to Rhino, who had tottered haphazardly to the edge of the door beside him.

"We have to jump back off," Bolt said, soberly. "Mittens isn't going to make it!"

"Yeah, let's go again!" the hamster agreed, words slurred, still somewhat dazed from his recent flight.

Bolt stood up, watching Mittens, who was still desperately running after the train. She'd fallen alongside the boxcar behind Bolt's, which also had an open door. He steadied himself to jump back to the ground, but before he could do so there was a sudden movement from the other train car that caught his attention.

A hand, rough, dirty and protruding from the sleeve of a rumpled, worn-out windbreaker, reached out through the door and groped at the air. From where Bolt was standing, he couldn't see who the arm was attached to, though he leaned out as far as he could. He watched with biting apprehension as the hand reached out to try and grab the cat below.

"Mittens! Look out!"

Mittens looked up, and tried to duck out of the way, but it was too late. The hand snatched up and lifted her off of the ground. She screamed, letting go of the map, which sailed clumsily though the air and then snagged on the top of the train, a dozen cars back. Mittens struggled and angrily batted at the hand holding her, without effect.

Bolt called out again, but by that time the arm had withdrawn back into the dark boxcar, carrying mittens with it, gone without a trace.

Bolt sat in the middle of the floor, stunned, staring vaguely into space. Rhino was still at the door, craning his neck around the edge and trying vainly to see into the other car.

"Did you see that?" he said, open-mouthed, and then, again: "Did you _see _that?"

Bolt stood up and shook himself. No, this certainly wasn't the time to be sitting around doing nothing. He joined Rhino at the door and looked outside. There was no easy way to get between cars, but there was a ladder on the side of his car that ran from the ground up to the roof. He grimaced. Much as he enjoyed life as a regular dog, there were still times when he missed having super powers. They just made certain things so much _easier_.

Bolt took a breath. "I'm going after her," he said, determinedly.

"Right!" Rhino saluted, enthusiastically. "I'm right behind you, Bolt!"

"Um." Bolt looked back at the hamster, unsure. He wasn't certain how much more punishment that plastic ball would be able to take before it just up and broke; he was amazed at what it had lived through already. "I think you'd better sit this one out. I need you to, ah, hold the fort, here."

Rhino saluted again, undeterred. "Of course!" He trotted to the middle of the floor and stationed himself there, with a serious look. "I'll make sure nobody gets in here while you're away on your daring rescue mission!"

"Thanks, Rhino," Bolt said, with a hint of a smile. He jumped off of the train.

* * *

Inside the boxcar, Mittens found herself brought face to face with a rough, skinny homeless man in dark, wrinkled clothes. His hair was too long, and stubble coated his chin. He smelled like hamburgers and train yards.

The man looked at Mittens with a curious, but friendly expression. "Animals hopping _trains_, now," he said, bemused. He set Mittens down on the floor, carefully. "Is the whole world going nuts, or is it just me?"

Mittens retreated a few feet, and noticed for the first time that there were other animals in the car along with her, draped familiarly across the man's lap: a brown Labrador with a tired expression, and a smug-looking ginger-striped cat. Both of the animals looked old and worn out beyond their years, but happy enough all the same. They shared unusual, identical bald spots on their heads; thick rectangular scars that ran between their ears. The cat watched Mittens appraisingly from atop the man's knees. Her eyes were cold, but vicious, like an old retired soldier.

Mittens realized that she could feel herself shivering. The orange cat seemed to notice this. "Ssscardey-cat?" she asked, casually. She leaned forward, and sniffed at Mittens inquiringly. ". . . Stinks," she concluded, simply, and turned away.

Mittens frowned. "Yeah, well, you're no bed of roses yourself, sister." She wandered off to the far end of the boxcar and glowered across at the other three. Just as she was starting to calm down from the shock of being yanked into the company of a bunch of transients, she started again in sudden realization:

The map! She'd dropped the map! Two waffles away, and one slip from her had left them completely lost. Stupid, stupid, stupid! She was on her feet again, pacing back and forth. She had to get the map back, but how? She'd seen it catch on the train, so if she could just get up to the roof she could probably find it. How to do that, though?

Mittens cast her eyes about the boxcar and noticed that a part of one of the boards was missing in the back wall, near the roof. Light filtered through it, and she could see a bit of the train car behind them through it. In the corner, there was a heap of mildewed cardboard boxes. If she could just get the boxes close enough . . .

The dog lifted its head and watched in quiet puzzlement as Mittens hauled the boxes across the train car floor. "Cat?" it asked, curious. "What are you doing?"

"Shut yer yap, dog, I'm trying to concentrate." Mittens backed up and eyed her alignment, judging the distance of the jump she'd have to make.

"Bandit," the dog corrected, matter-of-factly, and then turned back to its own thoughts.

"What?"

"His name is Bandit," the ginger cat explained. "He likes to tell everybody that."

"Oh. Well." Mittens was entirely unsure of what to think of the unlikely trio. "Nice to have met you, Bandit." She looked to the cat. "What's _your_ name?"

"Can't remember," the cat replied, yawning. She seemed as though she couldn't possibly care less about the fact. "But it started with a T, I think. T-something." She yawned again, and watched Mittens climb atop her impromptu cardboard staircase. "Going so soon, scardey-cat?"

Mittens bunched up, ready to make the jump out and to the top of the train. "Yeah, well, you know how it is. Things to do, places to be. And it's a little too weird for me in here, frankly, if you don't mind me saying." She looked back. "Why are you with those yahoos anyway? You're a cat, you oughtta know better."

The ginger cat's expression didn't change. She surveyed the man and the dog beside her, and shrugged. "Is We," she said, simply, as though that explanation made any sense. "Is home."

Mittens hesitated, unsure of herself for a moment, but then she turned, and jumped up through the hole in the wall, scrambling out and away.

* * *

Bolt just barely managed to catch onto the ladder as he jumped. It hurt, and his grip was slipping fast, but those were things he could worry about later. He scrambled up and over the rungs; climbing ladders was clearly not something dogs were supposed to do, but he managed anyway. Pulling himself over the top, he stumbled onto the train car roof, doing his best not to lose his step. The wind was strong, up here, and he had to squint against it. His fur ruffled, uncomfortably. That was the first hard part out of the way, at least, and to be honest he hadn't really been entirely sure that even that was going to work. He took a step, uneasily, toward the boxcar that he'd seen Mittens disappear into.

Before he could get any farther, however, he noticed something crawl onto the roof of the train ahead and start running along the top, away from him. Bolt started in surprise. It was Mittens, he could tell, though she was already two cars away from him. He yelled to her, but the roar of the train and the wind drowned his voice out completely. He watched her go, bounding and leaping from car to car. Didn't she know that was the wrong way? Where was she _going_?

It didn't matter, of course. He wasn't going to feel right until he'd personally made sure Mittens was safe and sound. He steeled himself, and moved forward.

Mittens was absolutely terrified, and not particularly ashamed to let it show. She ran across the boxcar roofs with a look of utter horror plastered across her face, doing her best to hold in a mortified yell every time the train jumped and shuddered. The key was speed – all she had to do was grab the map and get back as quickly as she could, and then she could pass out in peace and forget about the whole thing.

Yes, the day had certainly _started_ well. Now where was she? Running along the top of a moving train to fetch a waffle map, that was where. Life just _loved_ its curveballs, oh yes it did. As she moved, a new, sudden thought in her head casually pointed out that if the map was gone, it would just mean taking them that much longer to reach Bolt's person.

If they reached her at all, of course.

Mittens shoved that voice aside even faster than the other one, though she wasn't entirely sure why. She skittered across another roof and cleared the gap between cars with a calculated leap. Just one more train car to go, now. She could see the map; it was caught on the top rung of a ladder on the end of the car, fluttering wildly. It had torn, and it was slipping. Any second now, a sudden jolt from the train could send it flying away into oblivion.

She grit her teeth, and edged closer. Just as she was about to make the jump to the last car separating her and the map, something made her hesitate. She twisted an ear backwards – was that someone calling her name? She turned. Yes, someone was definitely calling to her: Bolt, looking as earnestly heroic as ever, racing across the train and leaping from car to car. How utterly typical.

. . . She thought, with just the mildest fluttering in her chest that she made a _very_ concentrated effort to ignore.

Suddenly, the entire train lurched, unexpectedly, bouncing across a rough spot of track. Mittens' step faltered, and then she felt herself, horribly, slipping over the edge of the car. There was a tiny, brief, gut-wrenching moment as she drifted in space, and then she was clambering at the edge of the roof, dangling over the side, holding on for dear life. _Now_, a distant part of her mind thought, it would be all right to scream.

"Mittens!" Bolt cried out as he watched her fall, putting on an extra burst of speed. He vaulted across the train cars, racing to reach her before she slipped. Mittens held on desperately, but there was only so much grip a cat without claws could have. She chanced a look beneath and saw the ground racing past beneath her. No convenient railings or a ladder to catch onto; if she fell now it was a straight plummet to the tracks below. She screwed her eyes shut and held on for dear life, trying and failing desperately to pull herself back up.

And then, suddenly, her paws left the roof. Not because she'd slipped, though, but because there was Bolt, holding on to her, lifting her up by the nape of her neck.

How utterly, _utterly_ typical. Flutter, flutter.

"Mittens, what are you _doing_?" Bolt demanded. His words were muffled through his clenched teeth, but that didn't mask the obvious note of concern that went with them.

"The map!" Mittens explained, breathlessly. She looked back towards the end of the car; the map was still there, but only barely. It flapped pitifully in the wind. "I dropped the map! We'll be lost without it!"

Bolt looked to where the map was. The gravity of the situation registered in his eyes, but before he could move, the train lurched again, throwing him off his footing. He didn't slip, but he was pitched forward, so that he had to splay his feet and struggle to hold on to Mittens. Normally her weight was no trouble for him – it hadn't taken him any effort to dangle her above the streets of New York, after all – but off-balance like this it was an effort just to stay upright. Holding on to Mittens, Bolt was immobilized. He glanced up at where the map was, and felt his stomach turn in anxiety. The map was nearly gone; if he didn't run to snatch it now, it would sail away in the next moment. And Mittens was right – without the map, they were lost. They were stuck in the middle of nowhere right now, after all, with no streets to guide them. How would he know which way to go? How would he ever make it back to Penny?

Of course, he _could_ still make it in time. All he had to do to grab the map was . . .

. . . No. Absolutely not. Bolt frowned. He'd never let himself live with the guilt of even _thinking_ about something like that. It wasn't even a choice, and he knew it full well. Bolt watched with a sinking feeling as the map gave a last, beaten twist, and finally tore free of its snag. It lifted into the air once more, turning over and over, and drifted off limply into the distance, unreachable. Bolt watched it go, and then turned his full attention back to Mittens. He made a concentrated effort, and then hauled them both back up to the roof, setting Mittens down beside himself.

Mittens scrambled to her feet and spent a moment of stunned silence glancing between Bolt and the receding, wavering speck in the distance that was the map.

"Bolt," she said, quietly. "The map . . . "

"It's okay Mittens," he said, looking at her. "Really. It's fine."

And if nothing else, she could tell when he was being sincere.

* * *

In comparison, the rest of the train ride was remarkably uneventful. The three unlikely travelers sat together at the edge of the boxcar door, watching the world dance past them. Rhino was eager as ever to report his stellar performance at guard duty, and of course demanded a detailed retelling of Bolt's daring rescue. Not only did the dog oblige, but he was even generous enough to add in a few explosions and helicopters, just to make the story a little more interesting.

When they eventually stopped, it was in a bleak, boring little outpost of a station in the shadow of a stunted mountain range. Mittens liked it there; it was quiet, and shady, a good place to rest and collect one's thoughts.

. . . And then Bolt, the insufferable lug, just had to go and find her a ball of yarn. Bliss. That dog was starting to know her just a little too well, Mittens thought. Thing was, she was ever-so-slightly reaching a point where she didn't even care about that, though of course she still wouldn't ever admit it. Keeping a lid on her very audible purring, however, was no easy task.

She paused, draped amid a puddle of yarn, and looked back to the parked train just in time to see a brown Labrador and a ginger-striped cat following a ragged man as they all strolled out of sight. Mittens watched them go, and then turned to look at Bolt and Rhino, her own travelling companions.

Home, she thought. What a funny word, and so long since she'd been able to apply it to anything she could call her own. She focused on Bolt, and the rapidly fading mark on his side, and decided that they didn't need a map, not really. Not when they were only two waffles away – or however far they eventually wound up going.

And the voice in Mittens' head, still a tiny bit smug but not at all sarcastic anymore, finally allowed her to consider the possibility that maybe, just maybe, things were going to work out all right after all.


End file.
